No One But You
by brookeisabaddie
Summary: "…no, he hadn't just broken her heart. He'd ripped it out and used it as target practice until she got the point. He put that look in her eyes and he regretted it more than he could regret anything else he'd done on earth...and Clarke still loved him with her everything." Clarke/Bellamy. Review!
1. Chapter 1

**Read and Review Please! **

Chapter 1:

Her first instinct was to run—and Clarke knew better than anyone that first instincts were the difference between life and death. But, she hadn't. She couldn't. And somewhere in her head she chalked up her decision to a rare moment of weakness and scolded herself the entire walk back to Camp Jaha. Her busted lip, bleeding eyebrow and most-likely broken knuckles were proof of her momentarily lapse in rationality—well, those things and the fact that Harper was still alive and not Reaper meat.

She recalled the last time she'd walked through the electric gate surrounding Camp Jaha in similar condition. She was different person, then. She was happier, the days following up to her return to camp, than she'd ever been in her entire life. Yet, once the gate opened—the look, much like the look she wore on her face now, was there and everyone knew that Clarke Griffin wasn't the _princess _anymore. It was the day her heart froze over and refused to thaw no matter how many followers she gained—no matter how many "friends" she had.

"Thank you." Harper said to Clarke, side-glancing at the former medic. Harper looked worse than Clarke but Clarke looked like a soldier coming from battle. Harper looked like a scared girl—because truthfully, that's what she was. Her hair was matted with a mud and dirt mixture while her face was starting to bruise. Clarke met her eyes—and maybe Harper saw something small flicker in them—and opened her mouth.

"I made a judgment call and someone died." She said coldly, "Don't thank me."

When the gate opened, Clarke took the hand gun from her hip and handed it to the guard automatically. She was used to the policy by now. She was going to leave Harper but the sound of her mother's voice stopped her. "Where are going?" She asked Clarke, "You need stitches and you need to brief the council on what happened…Clarke, what happened? You're four hours late we were concerned."

"I can handle myself." Clarke brushed her off before specifying. "Physically and medically."

This was a typical conversation between Abby and Clarke. Clarke was emotionally distant, she never let herself feel and Abby was begging her to open up…she was trying to desperately bring out the parts of her innocent daughter who wanted nothing more than to breathe real air and feel water on her skin. Each time Abby tried, she found nothing but hallowed out spaces where _her _Clarke used to exist freely. As Clarke's mother, she had to keep trying but there was only so much she could take when it came to Clarke's demeanor and dialogue. "You think I don't know that?" Abby tried to run after her, "Clarke…you don't have to fight anymore. You were relieved of your duties months ago and constantly putting yourself in dangerous situations is going to end up getting you killed."

Abby had to prevent herself from sobbing when she looked at her daughter—really looked at her. Her battle wounds and her dirty features were sickening to any mother but it was the _eyes. _Her eyes were broken and not because she was _sad—_no because Clarke converted every emotion to anger and indifference for the feelings of others. Clarke didn't say anything before she turned back around and headed towards her room.

If there was a single person that Clarke didn't want to see it would be him; Bellamy Blake. She didn't want to see him smiling down at his "catch-of-the-day" and she didn't want to hear his laugh. She didn't want to meet his eyes and she didn't want to hear his voice. Still, in her own sick way she never wanted it to go away. He stepped away from his pretty little brunette and looked at Clarke—first as a friend, then as a leader. "What happened?"

"Conner's dead." Clarke's tone was often mistaken for nonchalant and emotionless when she spoke to anyone about something _serious. _It was her defense mechanism towards _caring. _She'd cared _too much _at one point of time and what had it gotten her? Here…here in this miserable life.

"How?" Bellamy said, clearly affected by the loss.

"Ask Harper." Clarke said before she reached her door. "Did you need something?"

"Clarke…" Bellamy extended a hand to touch her face.

She closed her eyes before exhaling loudly, "Don't touch me." His face fell, her rejection causing him to take a step back. Clarke was scary these days…

And it was all his fault.

He remembered the last time he saw her like this—saw her broken skin and bloody hands. He recognized the look in her eyes—that fucking look haunted him every day and it never left those cerulean eyes. Not since the day he broke her heart…no, he hadn't just _broken _her heart. He'd ripped it out and used it as target practice until she got the point. He _put _that look in her eyes and he regretted it more than he could regret anything else he'd done on earth.

"I'm sorry." It was probably the four hundredth time he'd said it since he realized his mistake. God, it was a mistake… he knew that now.

"Me too." Clarke wasn't apologizing to him—truthfully, she had nothing to apologize for. She was apologizing to the person locked behind the vault in her heart—the person that loved Bellamy Blake with everything she had until she didn't have it anymore. That _Clarke _was weak—that Clarke had resurfaced for an instant today and coaxed Conner into helping save Harper from the reapers and that Clarke was responsible for Conner's death. Even if the man could make his own choices. She slipped out of sight as she entered her room, locking the door with a heavy sound.

Bellamy stood there for a moment before collecting himself and returning to the brunette he'd been talking to before Clarke shook up his world.

Inside her room, Clarke was a different person. She wasn't affectionate—there was no time for affection and meaningless emotions such as love. Inside her room, Clarke was irrational and that was her outlet when it came to her impervious state.

She grabbed the glass figure she'd found outside of her door (probably from Finn) and threw it violently against the wall until it shattered into a million pieces. It was for losing Conner—a loyal follower. It was for losing Bellamy—the love of her life. It was for her mother, it was for her friends, it was for everything she'd lost…

She blinked after a moment of looking at the mess she'd made, stepping over the glass and reaching for a needle and the small mirror she kept by her bed. She steadily stitched her skin after rubbing a rag across her face to erase the dirt and blood. Her mind was drifting to the memory she replayed in her head every single night before she closed her eyes:

_Her laugh was a strange sound—not then, but compared to the person she would become it was certainly rare. Bellamy was laughing, too and that was also rare. She was celebrating a WIN during a council meeting—he was celebrating with her. Her eyes darted around the field they were in, supposedly "hunting" but more-so making fun of the imbeciles on the council in general. He leaned down, his hand brushing her cheek. "Can I kiss you, Clarke?" He'd asked, meeting her light-hearted eyes. She nodded, closing her eyes before his lips clashed with her own—_

"Clarke…" a muffled voice called to her from behind the door followed by a soft knock. Clarke put the mirror down, pushing herself off of her bed before going to the door. "It's Octavia…"

Clarke sighed, "Do you need something?" She gritted her teeth while she thought of Octavia's persistence. She would attempt to "talk" at least four days a week (and that was rounding down)—each time getting rejected. She was relentless.

"We miss you." Octavia said. If Clarke could see the girl, she would understand the emotion pulsing through the Blake girl's head—it was evident in the way Octavia rested her head against the door, a hand hovering in a half-knock stance. "The real you…"

_I miss her too. _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

"Once upon a time there was a princess and a king that lived in a beautiful kingdom. The King loved the princess very much but he was greedy and foolish, only concerned with what there was to gain rather than what he had to lose. One day, the King put everything on the line to fight their evil enemy—including his relationship with the princess. He won, of course, he was the smartest and strongest warrior in the entire kingdom but he paid the price. He lost friends. He lost the princess." Octavia told the story to a group of children she'd befriended in Clarke's absence. "Any questions?"

"Why was the King such a moron?" A kid named Zachariah asked with his hand raised in the air. "Didn't he know he was hurting himself?"

Octavia sighed, "The King was so caught up sometimes that he forgot about himself."

"And the princess…"

"Oh, trust me…he'll never forget the princess." Octavia eyed her brother from across the camp and frowned after releasing a burdensome breath. "Story time's over kids." She declared as she stood up from her position on the ground and started walking towards her brother. He looked smug—so smug that she wanted to punch him in the face.

Instead, she arched an eyebrow at him. "What?"

"I just had one hell of a night." He proclaimed before dipping the circular dish into their drinking water and taking a sip. "Honestly…one to remember." It made her sad to see her brother numbing the pain with endless idiots. Not as sad as Clarke's dead eyes…nothing made her sadder than those dead eyes. She sighed, her hand toying with the edge of the container as she looked down at her feet. "What is it, O?"

Octavia shrugged, "Do you still love her?"

"You know I do." His voice was no longer jovial or smug. He frowned into his little dish and then back at his sister. "It doesn't matter now, does it? She's…gone." Octavia opened her mouth to speak but Bellamy stopped her, "I don't want to talk about her."

"You never want to talk about her." She said. "I'm not giving up on her. Clarke is still in there…this charade she puts on will fail one day."

"And then what?" Bellamy asked, "She's lost too much to be the same…or have you forgotten that Jasper is dead?" He breathed loudly, "I'm sorry, Octavia…okay, I know he was your friend but we all lost something on that mountain. Monroe, Jasper, Murphy and seven other people died and she walked away from it. I walked from it. And nothing, nothing could ever be the same after that."

Octavia had mourned the loss of Jasper and the others. She nodded, "It's not your fault they died, Bellamy…you know that now…breaking up with her because of your _guilt _was a mistake."

"I told her it was her fault for not saving Monroe." Bellamy shook his head, "That's not something you forgive…or forget for that matter." He put the dish down, looking at her. "I was the one that let her grieve by herself. Sometimes, I think that maybe she had the right idea. Care less, do more. She's a great leader, now. She's brave—strong. She's who she has to be to survive. Wishing on butterflies isn't going to change that, Octavia."

_Flashback_

_Her tear stained cheeks pressed against the goggles on his head as she held his body. He wasn't even cold yet—he was just dead. "No, no, no, no…" She rocked them back and forth, "Jasper…" His name came out like a choked scream. Her body heaved as her hands moved down his face to his neck, feeling for a pulse she knew wouldn't be there. She heard her name being called from a distance but she couldn't respond. She couldn't move anymore. Her attempt to swallow back her tears failed as she looked down at her close friend. "I'm sorry…" She sobbed, "You didn't want to be here…you didn't want to be here…"_

"_Clarke!" Bellamy called her name in relief—a relief that sent her heart into a frenzy. He took in her tears, took in her injuries. When he saw who she held in her arms, his face fell. "Clarke…" His voice trailed, "We need to go. Monroe needs you."_

"_I can't leave him." She closed her eyes as tears flooded pass her eyelashes, down her cheeks like knives. Her breathing was ragged, "He didn't want here Bellamy." Her voice broke at every word, "And I said I needed him…I said 'you know the inside of the mountain as good as I do and I need you to help me'—why did I do that? I could have covered it. This should have been me." Her voice rose as she repeated herself, "This…should…have…been…me." _

"_Monroe needs you." He repeated, "Clarke…she's going to die if you don't help her." _

_And it was the lowest point he'd ever seen Clarke reach as she leaned over her friend's body, her mouth opened as if she were going to scream as loud as she could. Only a heartbreaking sob escaped her mouth as more tears fell down her face onto Jasper's shirt. Her body shook with her grief—her regret. She was paralyzed by her emotions. She couldn't form a rational thought._

_Monroe died because she cared too much._

_She would never make the mistake again…_

XXX

Clarke stayed in the shadows until her presence was necessary within the camp. Normally, she would step in during a fight—elbowing the instigator in the mouth before tackling the other to the ground. Too often, she ended up with a terrible bruise but she never worried about it. Sometimes, she would interrupt a discussion to steer it in a sensible direction rather than unsystematic, half-baked plan.

Nathan Miller, though, sought her out today. As a thief, Miller had an eye for the unattainable…maybe that's why it was always easy for him to find Clarke when he needed her. He recognized early on that Clarke wasn't the type to lock herself in her room. No, she liked to be part of the decision making process—and if that wasn't possible, she would be in the vicinity of where the decisions were being made. "Miller." She greeted him with a nod. He smirked slightly, "What do you need?"

"They want to go on a hunting trip."

"_They?_" Clarke needed him to expand his vocabulary beyond simple pronouns.

Miller said, "Bellamy and his pack." He crinkled his nose at his own words. Clarke rolled her eyes, which he noticed—of course he noticed.

"You used to be part of his pack."

"That was before he traded up to people his own age." Nathan shrugged, "I'm over it. I just thought you would want to know before they took the ammo and guns without discussing it with you." He continued to speak after pointing towards the artillery table. "The council usually includes you in these type of things."

"I know." Clarke said, angrily stomping down the stairs that led her to the top of the Ark, where she could hide behind the huge panels on the roof. She was tired of people going behind her back to make illogical decisions. They had plenty of _food _it just wasn't raw and bloody the way the Neanderthal's liked it. They didn't have the materials to waste on luxury—Bellamy knew that! She'd specifically outlined it in the last meeting. The only time Clarke didn't have a major problem with Bellamy is when she could lash into him like a whip, leaving him reeling from her valid points and acid tone. For instance, "Are you a fucking moron?" Being screamed across the camp seemed to gain his attention but her next sentence was a punch in the face. "You should let someone competent lead the group—someone that won't waste bullets because they think it's cute."

"I'm plenty competent, thank you." Bellamy said, "Go back to your cave and butt out Clarke."

"You can't tell me what to do." She cut her eyes at him, "You're making a mistake because you're impulsive. You never change, you never learn—you never will." Her words were low and harsh. "Do I have to remind you we are at war? I shouldn't. You did start the war, didn't you?"

"That's enough." Bellamy said, "Say what you will, Clarke but I didn't start this war. Your ration plan was taken under advisement and denied by the council—not me. If you have a problem, you know where to direct it. Who's your source, by the way? Ready to give _her _up?" He had a sneaking suspicion that Raven was her spy.

"I won't give _him _up." Clarke corrected him, her eyes flickering with liveliness that he wanted to cherish. He liked fighting with Clarke. He _loved _it. It was the only time she showed anything other than numbness or "rationality" as she liked to call it. Sometimes, he swears he can see the beginnings of a smirk on her lips when she says something witty. "I can be loyal, unlike you. Come on, Bellamy—you know this is a mistake."

"I know there are hungry people in this camp." He tried to brush off the fact that Clarke had a _male _spy. He wondered if they were hooking up… is that how she kept it together so well? She had a fuck-buddy? He gritted his teeth, prepared for her next assault.

She shook her head, "You're a bastard…condemning these people to the same fate as the others who blindly followed you before. You. Don't. Learn."

"Everyone's learning curve can't be as steep as yours, Princess." He looked at her vehemently, "You're always fucking right, right? No. You make mistakes, too. So high up, Clarke—I'd be afraid to fall from that pedestal you've put yourself on." He knew it was low because Clarke probably hated herself way more than she would ever hate him. "I'm leaving."

_Be careful. _"Fine."


	3. Chapter 3

**Readers may or may not have picked up on the fact that **_**I am in love with Miller…**_**I have no regrets. If Bellamy wasn't such a strong character and wasn't as attractive as he is—I would ship Miller and Clarke. Just an F.Y.I. for those who might be curious why he's such a significant character in my writing. **

**-Brooke. **

**P.S. Please Review—I normally pay a lot more attention to follows and favorites because as a reader, I know I don't always review but it means a lot to hear the insight of a reader. In my head, things are making sense and running smoothly because I have the plot thought out and detailed there but I might not make sense to someone that doesn't know where I'm going. Thanks for reading!**

Chapter 3:

_Thump._

_Thump._

_Thump-thump._

_Thump-thump-thump-thump. _

"No!" Clarke screamed as she jolted up from her sleep. Her forehead hosted beads of sweat that fell down on her face—or maybe those were tears. "No…" She repeated, throwing the small blanket away from her body as she stood up, pulling her jacket on her shoulders while brushing her hair out of the way. Her hands were shaking as she recalled her god awful dream.

Bellamy died.

And now she was breaking all the rules to check up on the person she _hated _to love.

The dream was completely random—she hadn't dreamt in months because she'd been running off of two hour nights—at best four hour nights and even if she were dreaming, she never remembered them. That's why she was shocked…because it was a strange dream. Not because of her feelings for Bellamy that resurfaced like ocean waves—back and forth, back and forth…

Clarke was no longer the type to hurry through camp with a concerned look on her face but her sleep deprivation and _concern _made her break into a slight jog_. _She was _concerned _and _scared _and _worried _because she actually gave a _damn. _She told herself that if Bellamy was in his area—if he was okay, she'd forget about the dream and break a few things in her quarters before the sun rose. She couldn't let on that she cared because the second she did—the second she let someone in on her little secret, they would attack like vultures. The pity, that she'd avoided thus far, would cover their faces when she walked into a room. The apologies for her losses would begin once more. Her mother would hover over her as if she were incapable of protecting herself… And if she let them _know _for a second, her whole world might shatter because of all the painful emotions she'd stored away would come back to her like a tsunami.

She never knew a heart could beat so fast without exploding. There was a second where she thought she was having a heart attack—but maybe it was just a mild panic attack. She imagined the blood flow clotting within her chest—imagine that people would say she died of a broken heart if she were to drop dead in her quick footsteps. She sure felt broken.

_Something's wrong—something's wrong—something's wrong… _

She reached Bellamy's door, her hand hesitating before she hit the metal roughly. What would she say if he stood before her, bare chested with a smirk on his face because of her late night visit? What lie would she have to tell? And what if he saw her awful face and _knew… _Of course, it dawned on her that Bellamy always knew exactly where her heart was because he'd known her heart and he'd been the person inhabiting her heart before. _Of course_, those were also foolish thoughts from a former artist who dabbled in romance once-upon-a-time…

There wasn't a response so she tried her luck again.

Still no response.

Her mind went to the times this had been Bellamy and she'd been the one ignoring his knocks. "_Princess…" _He'd said, "_Princess…talk to me…please?" _Her white knuckles connected with the door once more before she let out a sigh. "Bellamy." She said quietly before she yelled his name. Across from her, a door opened.

Octavia stood before her with equally _concerned _eyes. "Bellamy hasn't returned yet." She said, her lips forming a frown. "What's wrong?"

Clarke panted before shaking her head and trying her best to look collected. Her mouth opened for a millisecond before words actually came out, "Nothing…nothing. I have to go." She couldn't spend another second under the questioning eyes of Octavia Blake. This little escapade added fuel to the girl's fire that Clarke had tried to dump ice on repeatedly.

Her hands shook harder as a thousand memories flooded through her brain. One specifically stood out because it directly applied to her current situation.

"_Don't worry, Clarke…I'll be back before nightfall." Bellamy had said with a small smirk on his face, "Because I recall a little minx telling me about this thing called round two and revenge and I can't really stand said minx up, can I?"_

"_It's not funny." Clarke scolded him, "This is dangerous…boar hunting in the middle of the night with the new guys? You could seriously injure yourself…which is the exact reason you gave me when you told me I couldn't go."_

"_Princess." He used his nickname for her when he wanted something or really needed something. That night, it'd been a mixture of both. "Come on…we both know I'm capable of doing many things in the dark. I have the reflexes of a mountain lion."_

"_Your sexual prowess doesn't apply in situations such as this one. In fact, it makes me want to tie you up and force you to stay." Bellamy's face changed as his thoughts went somewhere else—the smirk on his face and the arch of his eyebrow indicating exactly where he'd gone. "Oh, come on—get your mind out the gutter, Bellamy. You know, they say it's the people with superiority complexes that like it rough."_

"_I don't know if you're trying to seduce me into staying or if you're just being… funny." Bellamy looked down at her with a darkened gaze. His hands reaching towards her hips, giving them a firm squeeze as they extended towards the hem of her shirt that he pulled until her body was pressed tightly against hers. "But we'll see how rough it gets tonight when I return."_

"_If you return."_

"_Hey…I'll return. Don't say things like that." He put his forehead against hers. "I promise I'll come back."_

"_I promise if you don't, I'll come for you with or without your explicit permission." She said, her face moving up until her lips softly touched his. _

"_I know."_

"_I'm serious…I'd come for you."_

"_And I'm serious when I say that I'll always return to you Clarke…one way or another."_

Her breath caught in her throat while she reached the hallway leading to her room. They were late all the time…this wasn't the end of the world. Bellamy was certainly not in danger—it'd be irrational completely passed off of suspicion rather than fact to say he was dead.

Yet, the voice in her head screamed:

_Something's wrong!_


	4. Chapter 4

"_But what I can't live with is the memories of the way you used to be/ The reasons I can't stay don't have a thing to do with being in love/ I understand that loving a man shouldn't have to be this rough/ You ain't the only one that feels like this world has left you far behind/ I don't know why you gotta be angry all the time." – Tim McGraw_

Chapter 4:

She never went back to sleep—to say that she'd spent the night with her ear to the metal walls wasn't an over-exaggeration but mostly fact. Her pacing soon made her legs hurt so she'd leaned against the walls of her room and listened for the slightest movement in the hallways…

Nothing.

She wasn't sure if the nothingness was good or bad but she knew that it was _nothingness _that kept her hanging onto her sanity (which was probably the worst possible thing to depend your sanity on.) The alarm she set for "just-in-case-I-sleep" purposes told her the sun was up and she had to face another day. She took in a deep breath before opening her door and stepping out. She was met by Nathan Miller, his face in a permanent deep frown. "You heard, then?" Miller said, evaluating her face as if she were an open book that he could easily read.

"Yes." She said, "How concerned is everyone?"

"With the thought of you taking over our section by yourself? Fucking terrified." Miller commented, "This is abnormal, even for Bellamy. It was a few hours—Bellamy is highly trained in the terrain. He's one of the best, you being his biggest rival…he should be back."

"Unless?"

"Unless _they _got him." _They_ referring tothe Mountain Men and their reapers—who'd been making more and more appearances lately.

Clarke shook her head, "I told him not to go."

"I know."

"No, don't you understand Nathan? I told him not to go! I should have shot him in the leg or something. I should have _made _him stay." Clarke let out a growl before she continued speaking, "Will you attend the council meeting with me?"

Miller nodded, "Of course. Although, I'm positive there isn't a council meeting today."

"Oh, there will be." Clarke said, "I'll be damned if they don't meet over the absence of a key person in this camp."

Once gathered, the council stared at her in a brief awe at her initiative to sacrifice guns, people, and time towards the person she'd been most heartless towards to over the last few months. Clarke didn't let their awe affect her—rather drive her urgency. "We need to assemble a team to check on the status of Bellamy Blake." Clarke argued after Jaha looked at her with his own signature look—he was telling her no. He was telling her to let it go...all with his eyes. Her eyebrows furrowed as a hard fist came down on the table they gathered around. "What the fuck is the problem?" She yelled, "We don't leave people behind…every life matters!" As she looked at the adults, she realized she was preaching to the wrong set of people. Those were words she would use for _her _people. The blank, uncaring, uninterested, slightly amused looks reflecting towards her were not the looks of _her _people or any of the people that would be on _her _side. "Please." The word came out as a faint, pathetic whisper.

_I'm cracking…_

_I'm falling apart in front of the people I need to remain professional with like a child…_

She backed away from the table with a hard push, her once sad eyes returning back to the stormy blue that often threw daggers at the council (with impeccable aim.) "Clarke!" Her mother called, causing Clarke to turn her head quickly—too quickly for someone who 'didn't care' about _one life _but everyone's life as a unit.

"Why isn't he worth it? You can tell! Why isn't Bellamy worth it?" Clarke's head moved quickly as she shook away tears. She pointed at her mother, "It's a double-standard and you know it! Yesterday, you were willing to send people to look for Harper, Conner and me after being a few hours late. You were willing to risk resources then but why not now? Bellamy is an asset and has consistently kept us alive yet you're throwing him to the wolves—for what? Why?"

"Because some people are more valuable than others, Clarke!" Abby yelled over her before Clarke's rant continued. "_Your life _is more valuable than his, Clarke—that's why it's easy to make the hard calls when it comes down to it. Bellamy is…trouble. He constantly breaks rules—for Christ's sake, he started a war."

She glared at her mother, "You can't put a value on life, mom. You're not god. None of you are god yet you're playing him at your fucking table like a bunch of pricks!" She stepped closer, "I'm so sick of the bullshit politics in this camp—"

"They're back!" someone yelled in the distance and Clarke backed away from her mother to examine the area in which people crowded. Normally, she would sink into the shadows but she found herself pushing pass people with much force behind every shrug. She had to see his face.

But his face wasn't in the group of bloody, beaten, and bruised. "Where's Bellamy?" She was the first to ask the question, causing attention to fall on her. She felt the eyes of her people—their people—burning into her the most, though. Was Miller right? Were they really that scared of her being the only voice for them? "Where-is-Bellamy?" Clarke emphasized each word as she repeated her question.

"We were ambushed." One of the less injured claimed, "Bellamy was taken by the Mountain Guys or whatever the hell they're called. Arrested, would be a better term—for war crimes. They read him his rights and everything."

Clarke exhaled, closing her eyes while she balled up her fist. She counted to five at least seven times before she spoke. "Go get fixed, debrief the council." When she turned around, there was a new look in her eyes—fear.

Total and absolute fear.

She shoved pass the crowd around her until she was face to face with the only person she trusted not to call her out on her slip; Miller. "We have to save him." Clarke said under her breath while she crossed her arms. "I'm not letting him go down for war crimes with those sadistic bastards."

"Because you care?" Maybe she was wrong about Miller.

She didn't even try to pretend she didn't care, she only nodded in agreement. "We have to gather a group of equipped individuals for this jail break. They're security is probably much more complex since the first and second time I broke through it."


	5. Chapter 5

"_I can't believe I said I'd lay our love on the ground/_

_But it doesn't matter because I made it up—forgive me now/_

_Every day I spend away my soul's inside out…" – Nickelback. _

Chapter 5:

There was no way in hell that Clarke was going to ask the council for a damn thing—never again. She would never bring matters for _her people _to them. Imagine her shock when she found a highly intoxicated Octavia in the middle of her group of misfits with a jar up in the air—a position called "speech-mode." Everyone's eyes were on her as if she were the next Bellamy Blake—as if everything that made Bellamy would be passed on through DNA.

As much as Clarke admired his younger sister, she knew that Octavia was not Bellamy even with their sickening similar mannerisms and attitude problems. "Rest in peace to my older brother…" She said quietly, "He was the best person I knew and this-"

Clarke's loud voice interrupted Octavia's seemingly heart-felt speech. "He's not dead!" She claimed, causing the attention to focus on her. "He's not dead—at least not yet." She corrected herself and walked into the center of the crowd. "We can save him."

"We're tired of fighting…" Monty said, "We can't keep doing this. We deserve happiness…we deserve to mourn our friends and move on." He received claps for his statement. He was right—sure. She could give him that but he was also wrong. Because he wasn't thinking like a person that was _strong _and capable…he was thinking like a teenager.

She realized they were all teenagers—long ago had they ripped off their armor and turned it over to the Ark. "We fight for our people." Clarke told them, "And if the people have forgotten that, then the leader must fight for verification of that belief."

"So, you're going to go out there and risk your life for _one _person?" Someone questioned her, "You? Clarke Griffin—the ice bitch? Please—you just want us to go out there and die for you like always. You're no better than the council. Our lives mean nothing to you."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do." Clarke said, "I'm going to bring him back with or without the help of the people he's dedicated his life to protect."

"I'll go with you." Nathan raised his hand in the back, "God knows I owe Bellamy my life. I haven't forgotten."

"Neither have I." Harper volunteered with her hand raised. She was pretty beaten up still—just like Clarke. She wasn't sure she wanted Harper with her because she could quickly turn into a liability… still, she appreciated her enthusiasm.

No one else volunteered—maybe they assumed Bellamy was already dead, maybe they were scared. Either way, Clarke knew there was going to be a struggle to save him.

XXX

The war was caused by one simple action—disregarding the orders of the Ark and rescuing their people. The Ark said "causalities of a cruel planet"—Bellamy said, "Fuck you." So, when they stormed the mountain and rescued the teenagers he'd grown to care for…a war started. A war the Ark had to back up because of the teenagers would rebel if they knew they were going to leave them to die. Of course, this was when Clarke fell for Bellamy.

The reapers would attack them, fog would flood their camp every now and again (but that had stopped for the most part.) People would go missing—assumed to be prisoners of war—and occasionally they would lead exhibitions to the mountain to take out the guards and destroy their technology. The Ark would barely spare anyone for the cause. They just laid down and took it.

Bellamy once said, _"We should leave—forget these idiots. They don't want us. They would never die for us." _And she told him that they needed the Ark for survival—as if she hadn't learned her lesson when it came to the politics of their post-apocalyptic world.

Once Clarke caught her breath and started to form a plan, she knew that it was only going to be Miller and her on the rescue mission. She couldn't have Harper's injuries impair their judgment or be a liability if they were attacked by more reapers. Her main focus was getting Bellamy back _alive. _She wasn't confident in her ability to do so with Harper. After she established that, she told Miller to prepare himself.

She told him to say his goodbyes in case he never made it back—

Let's be real, this was a suicide mission and if she were at all confident that Miller wouldn't follow her she would go by herself. She'd rather die than face a day knowing that there was a possibility he was alive and she didn't do anything to save his life.

Clarke didn't say goodbye to anyone. There wasn't a single person worth saying goodbye to in the crowd. Sure, maybe Octavia—Finn possibly but what use was a goodbye when they would just try to stop her? Or if they were going to try to tell her Bellamy was done for?

Goodbyes were unnecessary.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6: 

Clarke met Raven's brown eyes, crossing her arms. "I have to know." She said, her eyes widening as she emphasized each word. "I can't think of a worse torture than knowing the person you lo- the person you're supposed to lead with may or may not be dead and I can't think of a worse way for me to end things. Raven…please." She indicated towards the electric fence, "They won't let me out."

"For good reason." Raven said through her squinted eyes as she sized Clarke up, "But if I were you…I would do the same thing—even if it's stupid."

"Thank you." Clarke nodded.

Raven pulled the radio to her mouth, whispering a few words into it before looking at Clarke. "Be safe. You too, Miller."

"We will." It was Nathan that spoke—not Clarke. She wasn't going to make any promises that she couldn't keep. They started off in a jog as to avoid any of the guards that were posted up to keep watch for reapers or stray grounders. Once the trees shielded them, they slowed. "What are you thinking about?"

She couldn't recall the moment she found the forest unattractive. It'd happened along the way when she started to associate the forest with immediate danger. But now—now she saw how beautiful it happened to be. The greenery that surrounded her made her want to smile but she didn't. Her eyes inhaled every detail that surrounded her. The tall grass tickled her legs…and then it didn't because they were walking a more travelled path.

"Nothing important."

She wanted to draw the grass beneath her feet, wanted to draw the streams near the mountain. She wanted to draw the grounder princesses and the people she'd grown to respect as family members. "What is your plan?" Miller questioned.

"I told Bellamy he started this war." Her reply made Miller nervous, "And I guess he fired the first shot when he broke the orders of the Ark to save everyone…sure. But I started this war—it was me. I couldn't stop looking for answers. I couldn't stop and I ended up escaping and then you know the rest." She huffed, "I don't regret it. I don't regret saving the lives of innocent people because you deserved to live but I regret putting that pressure on Bellamy."

"Be honest with yourself, you've put more pressure from this thing on yourself than anyone else." Miller said. "You don't regret saving us. I know that…but be honest with yourself, you regret not dying up there. You let it crush you every single day because you're alive and they're not."

"If we were in Mount Weather—we'd be dead." Clarke responded with the rational answer…but it had little meaning when it came to her actual thought process. Of course she regretted every breath she took—of course she felt guilt for every second she spent here because they were dead and she was alive and she was supposed to be their _equal. _She was supposed to die in battle—not of old age.

And maybe this was her last battle.

XXX

Bellamy stood in a white room- his complexion outlined by the bland color. He looked dirty and unkempt surrounded by the color despite his clean skin. He smelt the disinfectant—it's odor reminding him of the Ark. He couldn't remember the moments proceeding his capture due to the drugs that pulsed through his system; he didn't know his exact location; he wouldn't sleep and with everything going on, he shouldn't be thinking about her.

But he was.

He was thinking about the last moment they had and how he should have told her he was sorry once more—he should have kissed her tight lipped expression and told her how much he loved her. He should have pulled her aside countless times and done the same thing until she thawed under his warmth. He could say he tried—but how hard? Everyone knew if Bellamy Blake really wanted something, he got it. That's how he got Clarke in the first place…he wanted her. He sought her out. He practically _hunted _her until he knew she'd fallen for him. Clarke was the most beautiful creature he'd ever laid his eyes on—but her beauty was like moonshine and spice gold (a name Monty had given a natural herb he found that caused people to get extremely high)…it didn't hit you, until it had you slammed against a wall with nowhere to go—and you're so gone that you don't know how to walk away anymore.

And if that was her beauty—imagine her love. Her love had been the kindest thing that ever touched him. He never deserved it and if he'd known the intensity of it before he pursued her—he would have ran away like a child. But he didn't. It hit him like her beauty did and he was trapped against that metaphorical wall like a scared animal. He constantly tried to claw at her love—tried to break free but only when he was scared she would leave him. He would be lying if he said he hadn't grown use to it.

Her passion, though…it was probably the best possible thing in the entire world. He literally got pressed against walls and—well, the details are unimportant. Let's just say that Clarke knew what she was doing.

Either way, he refused to accept their last moment as a goodbye even though it was evident that he would have to (he knew that somewhere... he refused to accept death along with a few other things, though.)

His life was coming to an end apparently and all he could think about was her?

God, did he have it bad.

He should be thinking about Octavia—how would she recover? Then, he remembered how strong his sister was and how she could overcome anything and everything that life gave her. He'd spent his entire life living for her.

Then he wasn't living for her and living for himself.

Now—now, he was living for Clarke.

If he didn't make it out of this she would destroy herself. If he didn't make it out of this—her life would end. He didn't want to sound "proud"…he didn't want to sound like this was an achievement (not being able to live without each other). It was just something relatable to a fact.

Sure, Clarke wouldn't hold a gun to her head and pull the trigger. She wouldn't go out like Romeo either—she wouldn't drink the poison that would end her suffering. No, she would run herself to death like a dog because she _had _to.

He wasn't about to let her do that.

Not for a _damn_ minute.


	7. Chapter 7

"_If I just save you, you could save me too." – "No One Does It Better" by You Me At Six_

Chapter 7:

Clarke unfolded the pieces of paper in her back pocket, scribbling on one of the sheets before folding it back and placing it near Miller's head as he slept. She looked at his name staring back at her: _Bellamy—_a tear rolled down her face as she looked at her sleeping friend. "Goodbye, Nathan." She said, almost choking on a thousand tears that she'd kept in for so long.

She thought goodbyes were unnecessary—but not it this case.

She grabbed her bag and left her gun near Miller's head so he'd have extra fire power on his way back to Camp Jaha. It was nice to know that she had someone by her side during her last walk through the darkest parts on Earth. There was a metaphor somewhere in there but there was no need to convey it. She sighed one last time before she turned and started walking towards the Mount Weather.

She had every intention of throwing her hands up in there air and surrendering—well, after she offered her life up for Bellamy's life and if that didn't work out, she'd make sure she died by his side. She couldn't think of living another minute with the torture of not knowing. Still, she put one foot in front of the other with the confidence that she wouldn't die without knowing.

It was hard for her to think that Bellamy was dead—she didn't understand why Octavia easily accepted it. Well, actually, she did. It was easier for her to accept it instead of holding onto hope…because hope got people killed in these areas. If Bellamy was alive, he would find his way back to her. She had faith it that.

But Clarke's faith struggled every day and she'd rather produce answers—she'd rather know beyond a doubt that he was dead or alive than hold on to a fraction of false hope. Her hands continued to twitch as she walked into a flatter area where she knew the tunnels started…She brushed across the ground with her foot before she hit something with it. She gripped the handle, struggling to pull it up. She wasn't strong and her mind went straight to the first time Bellamy showed her how to use a gun—how he used his axe to open the bunker. She sighed, jerking it extremely hard. She probably pulled something but it didn't really matter.

She lowered herself into the darkness, regretting the fact that she didn't have a flashlight. She knew the way because it was burned into her head. She started walking in the direction she needed to walk in. Life doesn't always break people's heart—but when it does, it's cruel because it moves on faster and faster until time erases memories.

She couldn't forget him even with time.

He was a tattoo.

She had to admit that she was wrong to his face before she died—she had to do that. It was only fair that she tell him all her shortcomings before it was too late.

XXX

Bellamy touched the spot on his neck that she used to suck on repeatedly—she would leave her little mark as a sign to all of the bimbos that she _owned _him. It was the most sensitive part of his neck and it always made him smile when he remembered how she found that out. Clarke had her sensitive spots as well but he never disclosed the secrets of Clarke's body to anyone.

Her almost sinful squeals always made him laugh incredibly loud.

Except he couldn't laugh at the memory of who she used to be. It was easy to think about the happy times they shared—it pained him to think about their horrible fights and her icy tears. They slipped down her face like a veil and she would try to wipe them away because of pride. She thought it was weak to cry because only _children _cry.

Then she didn't cry at all and he missed seeing her _break _even if it tore him apart to see her fall from her pedestal.

XXX

It was as if the guards were waiting for her to appear—she put her hands up by her head, her palms facing towards them as she steeled her face. She'd accepted death as the optimal ending in this situation. The fact that her optimism only extended towards the amount of time they would torture her before they killed her said something about her rough state of mind.

"I want to speak to Wallace." Clarke demanded, "Now."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

Her hand was pressed against an ancient book as she opened her mouth, "I, Clarke Griffin—leader of the skypeople, agree to a cease-fire with Mount Weather's operation. Under the terms of said cease-fire, I offer my own life rather than the life of my co-leader for war crimes. I understand if I try to escape, I will be condemning my people to certain death." Her face was made of steel, her words were cold and strong.

If one of her people were with her, they would think the entire speech was fraudulent but it wasn't. Clarke meant every single word. Wallace wanted peace—a war was draining them of resources and preventing them from sustainability. Clarke recognized that her people were experiencing some of the same complications.

Wallace said someone had to pay the price for all that they've lost and Clarke was an eager volunteer when it came to Bellamy's life. Sure, she thought of their multiple touches and their steamy kisses when she thought of how she _loved _him but she also thought of Octavia.

Octavia, the girl who announced her brother's death to the camp because she had to be _strong. _Clarke had to give Octavia back her armor—she had to give Octavia her brother back. Clarke had a family, true. But Abby would grieve and move on, she'd lost _her _daughter a long time ago and Clarke was never coming back.

The people around her seemed satisfied with her oath and nodded. She turned to Wallace, "He won't walk out without me." Clarke insisted, "I have to make this look believable. I need Maya and I need a guarded escape route and I need…" She continued on with a list of things she needed to stage their "remarkable" escape long enough to get him out without a fight.

_20 Minutes Later…_

Electricity shot through Bellamy's body as she crashed into him. It was the most unexpected moment of his life. He only saw her blonde hair before her head was nuzzled underneath his chin and her arms were wrapped around her back. "Clarke…" He said in a broken voice, "How are you here?"

She stepped back, their eyes locking. "Maya helped me." She lied and fake a smile. He hadn't seen her smile in so long so he believed it. "I'm going to get you out of here." She assured him, "Let's go." She took his hand in hers and pulled him out of the white room. He didn't see the tears forming in her eyes as she led the way in a quick jog. She checked around corners, ducked when she saw guards and played the part as well as she could.

Maya greeted her with a smile at the end of a hallway, "At morning light, the shift changes. You can stay in room 201 until then." She seemed off to Bellamy but he told himself that it was because seeing them reminded her of Jasper and he knew that Jasper and Maya had a fling.

"How can we trust you?"

"You can't trust anyone." Maya said pointedly to Clarke before she looked at Bellamy, "But you will escape this place and return to your people. Clare noticed how her _You'_s were emphasized. Clarke cleared her throat, "201 is at the end of the hallway to your right. It unoccupied and is under my rounds tonight. No one will know."

"Won't people notice I'm not in that god-awful white room?" Bellamy asked. Clarke looked at Maya, begging her to come up with a reasonable excuse. Maya opened her mouth for a brief second while she thought of something that made sense.

"The guards on the shift tonight are morons. They're young, all they do is play games." Maya said, "It'll be fine."

"Thank you." Clarke said before she started dragging Bellamy to Room 201. She wasn't going to give him the time to think—she wasn't going to let him ruin this. She pulled her head up and kissed him like she'd never kissed him before. Their clumsy bodies moved quickly as he backed against a wall, his hands reaching for the hem of her shirt instinctively. She moaned when he broke their kiss because she knew the louder she was—the happier he was. He pulled her shirt over her head, tossing it to the ground before he picked her up and placed her on the small hospital bed.

Moments passed before they were fully naked…but those moments were sweet and would haunt her until the day she died—she tried not to think about dying while Bellamy kissed down her bare skin, his hands gripping her hips hungrily as she tried to push up into him. She wanted to cry because this was the _last _time. She wanted to cry because it felt so good to be this close to him again. She felt him push into her, eliciting a small gasp from her as he slowly pulled in and out.

She hooked her leg around his waist, her eyes peering into his. They exchanged a soft smile before she moaned his name. He wrapped an arm behind her back as he brought her closer to him. She became louder until he put a hand over her mouth. "Princess…I probably can't think of better ways to die, but I don't really want to die right now."

The comment punched her in the gut but she didn't let it show, instead she closed her eyes and nodded. They continued to rapidly increase in pace and eventually, it was Bellamy who needed to quiet himself. He pressed their sweaty foreheads together when he finished. "I love you." She said, "…and I know I haven't let you know that in a long time, but I do…and I shouldn't have put everything on you. I shouldn't have let you think you started this war when it was me."

"It doesn't matter who started it if we saved our friends." Bellamy told her, reaching for his clothes. "I love you too." He finally replied, "I just don't think you should love me." She raised her body at his words, "I broke your heart, Clarke."

"Can we talk about that later? There's no need in bringing up our issues right now." Clarke didn't want to hear him apologize again. She couldn't hear him apologize again for what he did. She couldn't hear him say Jasper's name or talk about Monroe. It wasn't how she wanted to spend their last moments together…even though that's how she _deserved _to spend their last moments together. She stepped off the bed, her feet feeling the cold floor.

"Sure." Bellamy agreed with a smirk, "Maybe later we can _not talk_ too…"

"Don't hold your breath." She said, a bitter laugh erupting from her chest. "It was almost 4:20 when I got you out…so it's almost go time."

XXX

Hand-in-hand they ran throughout the compound, desperately looking for an escape route. There was a second when she thought of escaping with Bellamy. She was a resourceful person, they could survive…but then what about a future? She could never promise him a future. She rounded a corner and it looked as if they were going to be captured when Clarke turned to Bellamy with her cerulean eyes and said, "I love you." She nodded as she wept. Bellamy's face distorted as he tried to comprehend what she was saying—why she was saying it. She pressed herself into him, wrapping her arms around his. _Is she surrendering? _Bellamy wrapped his arms around her…if they were going to die—he wanted to die with her. "Promise me you'll let me go...please." She said as a genuine tear rolled down her face, hitting his neck as she placed a small kiss over it. She slipped the sedative from her jacket pocket, plunging the needle into his back.

He looked so betrayed…then he looked sad. He looked _sad _as he realized what she was doing. "Clarke—no." He said, his eyes were beginning to tear up. "Please don't." He begged her in a rough, tearful voice. He was fighting the drug with every ounce of will-power he had but it wouldn't be enough.

"I've made my choice, baby…" She said, her tears reflecting his own. "Just close your eyes. Close your eyes, Bellamy and it'll be okay." Her hand reached to his face and floated over his eyes. She held him as he fell into her and crashed to her knees when all of his weight was on her. "I'm sorry." She kissed his lips before the guards grabbed her shoulders and arrested her. Men in haz-mat suits took a hold of Bellamy, dragging him towards the doors.

Wallace joined her, "You're doing the right thing." He assured her with a smile. "Dr. Tsing will see you now."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

There's something to be said about Happy Endings and how they just don'texist. People believe they're supposed to fall in love and get the equivalent to the American Dream…but that's just not true. The post-apocalyptic warzone didn't offer anything but pain and hope—which was more painful than pain itself…because for a fucking minute you expected the world to hand you everything it never handed you before. You a_ctually _thought it was going to be like an ending from a movie. The credits were going to roll and you were going to be with the person you loved…

But happy endings _just don't _exist.

The wet grass brushed against his skin as he shifted—he heard nothing, he felt nothing, he remembered _nothing _about the last few hours…and he was happy. There was a moment where he was happy that he'd managed to escape somehow and then the memories hit him like a 400 pound grounder with anger issues. His body shot up due to his fight-or-flight reaction but if he were being honest, he didn't want to move at all.

"Bellamy, man…" Miller said slowly, capturing the face of his friend. Nathan Miller was positive the face would be locked in his memory for the rest of his life. Bellamy Blake was angry and he was sad but he looked as if he were absolutely worthless…he looked like he'd failed the mission but it was Nathan who failed the mission. "I'm sorry."

"You were here?" Bellamy said, "You couldn't stop her! You just let her go in there to die…why the hell would you do that?"

Nathan remained strong, "Clarke made her choice." He motioned towards the mountain and said through his teeth, "She walked in there knowing damn well she wasn't walking out."

He watched Bellamy's angry outburst as he threw a grief-stricken tantrum. Part of Nathan wanted to know what Bellamy thought punching a tree would do, the other part wanted to join him…but they had to get home and there was no fucking way they were going to do that if both of them were falling apart. He would have to keep the seams of his sanity tight until he was alone. He watched as the fight in Bellamy drained…heard the sound of his legs hitting the dirt as a lone fist hit the tree once more and he cried…no, he was beyond crying—he was wailing, "Why would she do that?"

He wanted to give Bellamy a good answer but he didn't know what to say. It wasn't Clarke's time. It wasn't how it _had _to be. It wasn't her time…god, it wasn't her time. They came down to Earth with extra time—time they shouldn't have been allotted in the first place. They'd survived and the most resourceful person Nathan knew was almost certainly dead—it wasn't her time. "I know what you're thinking and it's a pretty shitty plan, Bellamy." He said after all sounds ceased from Bellamy. "It might hurt to hear that she sacrificed her life for yours, but that's what she did and if you storm that place with a thousand people—a thousand people, Bellamy—and you die in the process, she has died for nothing."

"She could still be alive." Bellamy insisted, "I have to save her, Miller." He stood up, walking in the direction of the mountain. Nathan grabbed his shoulders, pulling him to the ground in a tackle. "Get the fuck off me!"

"You can't go in there!" Nathan said, "If you go in there and die the council has won… no one will give a damn about _us _anymore. We need a leader, Bellamy. We need a leader and that's who you have to be. Mourn her the right way—don't be an idiot."

"She made the choice…" Bellamy said, "I deserve to make the same choice."

Nathan's voice lowered, "We don't get what we deserve here. You deserved—hell, Clarke deserved to have everything she wanted. She deserved to be an artist and she deserved to get married and have kids and all that bullshit that we think we don't want but we really want because we're human…she deserved all of that but we don't win here. We don't get what we want, we don't get what we deserve…we don't get happy endings." Bellamy was silent, his mind somewhere else other than fighting Miller. "She left you a letter."

He nodded for Miller to hand it over—which, Miller did after a few deep breaths.

_I told you I'd come for you,_

_-Your Princess _


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10:

It was like the universe was weeping for the innocent the day the camp decided Clarke Griffin was dead. Rain didn't drizzle, it poured like icy reminders that Bellamy was alone and nothing could change that. It was difficult to mourn when every second of every day seemed to go on and on without anything comforting. Sure, he could see Octavia's hand on his shoulder and he could see the eyes of the people that actually gave a damn but he couldn't _feel _they're comfort.

He couldn't feel anything.

But he could feel everything from the past punching him in the gut.

He could remember the first time they had sex. He could remember the first time they said they loved each other. He could remember the first time they pressed their foreheads together and said this was going to last forever.

And now it was all fucking over!

It was just done and there wasn't a damn thing anyone could do about it.

Nathan Miller showed up three days after her official passing. "You need to start thinking about the council leaving you to die."

"Why should I punish them when I left Clarke to do?" Bellamy asked numbly, "Do you think she's really dead or do you think they're—"

"Stop, man." Nathan said with a firm hand on his shoulder, "Don't go there."

"How long were you and Clarke sleeping together?" Bellamy stood up, "We break up and you think you have your chance…how long?"

Nathan didn't give him an answer.

"How long, Miller?" Bellamy prompted, "Come on you son of bitch—tell me! You're her rat, right? You're _him."_

He still didn't answer.

"Did you love her?" He asked, officially crying for the thousandth time. "Did you love Clarke?"

"Yes." Miller said, receiving a hard punch to his jaw. Miller hit back, slamming his fist into Bellamy's temple. If he wanted to fight, he was going to fight. Of course he never slept with Clarke…of course he didn't love her romantically. Clarke was his friend. His best friend. And he was going to let his other former best friend beat the shit out of him because that's how he mourned…

Bellamy needed to mourn.

So, Nathan Miller stopped fighting and let Bellamy swing and _swing _until his face felt like it was broken. His blood was on Bellamy's hand but he barely saw it through his swollen eyes. "I loved her." He said, "But I would never tell you that I loved her more than you. I never slept with Clarke."

"I know." Bellamy said, "She wouldn't sleep with you."

XXX

Clarke's eyes were blank as she stared ahead. Dr. Tsing was talking about procedure and the things that applied to her immediate death. The white room was familiar and the white gown she wore was familiar as well. She half expected to look behind the circular glass and see Monty. She half expected Bellamy to rescue her. She half expected to drop dead from the anxiety.

The monitors were beeping and she couldn't help but recall the technology on the Ark. She thought of her mother and how Clarke used to want to be just like her. She thought about her father…her brave father and how he would sacrifice everything for human life. Clarke hoped she made her father proud even if it was the life of Bellamy Blake—a boy her father was sure not to approve of at first. Bellamy was rough, but he was dedicated. Clarke would have spent a lot of time explaining why he was so _important. _She would have to explain the wild look in Bellamy's eyes when he was _winning… _she would have to explain his passion… she would have to explain how much it scared her to think of how _much _Bellamy loved her…

But her father would only fear one thing when it came to Bellamy Blake and that would be how much _Clarke _loved him.

If they'd been together on the Ark (which was a stupid thought about if they'd had extra time to love…) she would have been arrested with Octavia (if Bellamy had let her in on the secret) because Clarke Griffin loved Octavia Blake as if she were her own sister. The Blake siblings and Clarke Griffin reached an understanding long before Bellamy and Clarke fell in love—they would die for each other because they _cared _for each other. They were a family…an odd family that included Raven, Finn, Monty, Jasper, and Miller. Clarke regretted not turning to her family when Jasper died—there wasn't anything she could do about it now.

"You execution is set in two years' time." The doctor announced, "If things go according to plan."

Her head shot up, "Two years? What fucking plan?"

"Well if your boyfriend impregnated you, of course we're going to keep you alive to study the first baby we've ever delivered that can withstand radiation. It'd be a disgrace to pass up the situation." The Doctor had a scary point. Of course Clarke and Bellamy weren't concerned with the "safety" of their night. Clarke's heartbeat increased, she heard it over every monitor in the room. "At least you'll have the necessary time with your child."

"I don't want to be a mother." Clarke said, "End the pregnancy. End my life."

"You don't make your own decisions anymore, Miss Griffin."


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11:

Clarke looked at the black wall before her, a protective hand over the arch of her belly. "Why black?" Maya asked her, "If you don't mind me asking…" There was a cherry wood crib in the middle of the room with bland baby bedding in it. "Most parents paint the nursery a color representing the gender of the child."

"I'm not finished yet." Clarke told her, "The entire room is going to be covered with stars."

"Stars?"

"A million luminescent white dots that shine brightly in the dark." Clarke said with a smile on her lips, "The night sky is beautiful…the constellations will meet my baby's eyes every night and she will never forget that she is not one of your people, but one of us."

Maya seemed insulted, "One of my people?"

"Yes, one of your people." Clarke said, "Before you kill her for her blood or for her bone marrow and she mistakenly thinks it's because she's benefiting her people—no, she will know her real people are from the sky and live on the ground. She will know where she comes from."

"What's her name?" Maya asked, disregarding another one of Clarke's rants towards the government that has been treating her like the prized hog. Clarke thought that expression was fighting because of the size of her stomach.

Clarke looked at the wall, "Livilla."

"How did you come up with that?"

"Her father has a thing of Ancient Rome. He named his own sister after Augustus Caesar's sister Octavia. Augustus Caesar had a wife named Livia…she never had a female child but her granddaughters name was Livilla. Close enough." Clarke picked up the book by the crib, "See."

"Oh. What about a middle name?"

"Nova."

"Star?"

"A star showing a sudden increase in brightness…" Clarke said, "I'm tired, Maya. I'm going to sleep now."

XXX

Miller sat in her hide out, downing the moonshine as if it were a necessary blood infusion. He heard footsteps behind him—sometimes when he heard Bellamy walking behind him, he would close his eyes and pretend it was her. He didn't know why he would sacrificed the few pieces of his sanity for something so foolish. Months had passed.

Months.

And there hadn't been a damn thing but a small feeling in his gut—and Bellamy's—that things weren't exactly over.

"If she's alive, we're wasting time." Miller said, "I'm not the impulsive type but shouldn't we be getting our guns—shooting at that god damn mountain? Open up a door or something, kill all the sons of bitches?"

"You're wasted."

"I know." Miller nudged him as Bellamy sat next to his totaled friend. "If she is alive…what the hell are we doing about it?" Bellamy's face was inclined towards the sky, his eyebrows furrowed as he lost himself in deep thought.

A thought that was always centered on Clarke and some noble rescue mission. He knew that she didn't want him to rescue her—maybe that's why the radios had been silent and movement on the mountain ceased to exist. If it weren't for the hole in his chest that sparked every time he breathed…he liked to entertain the notion that if she was dead—if she was really dead—he could find some type of closure within the camp, that he _would have already _found closure and been able to move on.

He was probably underestimating her influence on his heart wit that type of thinking.

Did he ever have her forgiveness for leaving her? If he came back…was that one night …

God.

Eventually, Miller decided he was two sips from throwing up all over the sacred spot that had become a shrine for Clarke. He stood up, wobbling—a small ironic chuckle coming from his lips as he climbed down from the spot and left Bellamy alone.

"I don't believe in God." Bellamy said, "So I'm not praying to him…but if a higher power exists…if there is something out there—fuck it. Fuck this, I'll pray to you princess. I need you to forgive me for all the horrible things I've done to you. I need you to stay alive. I need you to survive this, dammit. And when I find you—or when you find me because you have a history of finding me long before I find you…I need you to be strong and I need you to be the person I know you have the power to be."

A tear fell down his face as the thought of her cold body somewhere—if anywhere. "I need you to make it…it's probably selfish to say it but I need you to make it for me because this hope—it's all I'm holding onto right now. We deserve to be happy together—we were supposed to be happy together. I don't know about you but the optimist in me thought we would have time to build a life here." More tears fell down my face, "It's my fault you changed and you turned cold…I should have tried harder. I walked away and laid our love down behind me like it didn't matter. It mattered, though…it mattered so much."


End file.
